And Then We Are I and She
by blue252
Summary: Because there is nothing like Kate Beckett in a dress. Inspired by a poem by ee cummings.


**Author's Note: **So I got this idea at the beginning of summer, started it, and real life got in the way. I should be working on The Boy with the Broken Halo but I got inspired to finish this and didn't want to let it go. So, here is a lengthy and fluffy/fun oneshot that I hope you all enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to Castle, except for all the DVDs.

* * *

**…_you should see when I turn to find_**

**_her how my least heart-beat becomes less._**

**_And then all her beauty is a vise_**

**_whose stilling lips murder suddenly me,_**

**_but of my corpse the tool her smile makes something_**

**_suddenly luminous and precise_**

**_-and then we are I and She…_**

**_ee cummings_**

There was just something about Kate Beckett in a dress. Kate Beckett in a dress was an endless list of adjectives that simultaneously overloaded his mind and reduced him to a stuttering mess. Stunning, gorgeous, sophisticated. And so very sexy.

He could go on and on. Except the stuttering mess was the more common result of said dresses. There was some line from Mean Girls that Alexis always teased him with… "Word vomit?" Yes, that's what Kate in a dress typically did to him. He was more likely to spit out something that sounded like "Grool" than string together a coherent sentence.

But that didn't keep him from being able to vividly recall the times he'd been lucky enough to see Kate dressed up. Each dress was burned into his memory, pictures of the soft curves of her body that he'd longed to run his hands over. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering, while he waited on her…

* * *

When he'd first met her she'd been so shielded. It had only served to make his mind race with fantasies of what it'd be like to see her let go just a little.

But no fantasy prepared him for the first time he actually got a glimpse of a less guarded Kate. Or at least a much less clothed Kate.

He'd rushed out of the precinct after almost forgetting about the stupid Derrick Storm reading. Working with Kate was proving to be such an immersive experience. Especially when they were closing out a case, narrowing down suspects, and he got to watch her wear down the killer into confessing.

Not surprisingly, by the time Alexis had called him to remind him about the book reading, he had to practically sprint to make it there on time, leaving without any explanation. He'd made it with about 5 minutes to spare, relieved to have avoided a raging Paula.

With the case closed, agent crisis averted, and a room full of Richard Castle groupies clamoring over the last Derrick Storm, he was pretty pleased with himself. So there he stood, his audience listening with rapt attention as he drew out the words, "Good, she thought, as the wind gathered up her hair."

Reaching the end of his chapter, he began the last sentence fully intending to finish with a dramatic flourish that would do his mother proud. But in that moment as he started to speak, he caught a glimpse of pink. A glimpse that was followed by a much…much longer glimpse of legs.

His eyes trailed up her body as she slowly shrugged off her coat, uncovering a short pink dress that highlighted her long, smooth legs. Whether it was the sudden exposure to her flawless skin, the tall black heels, her smoky green eyes, or the all too knowing smirk on her face, he was done for.

"No…one," he managed to squeak out, "will see my tears." He finished, eyes never leaving hers. For a minute he completely forgot that he was supposed to be entertaining a room full of fans.

His body was suddenly buzzing with the urge to scramble out from behind the podium, drag her down a deserted aisle of books, and press his lips to the creamy expanse of skin along her collarbone. Oh how he'd love to swallow that look on her face by devouring her completely. What was she doing here…and better yet, what was she doing wearing _that_ dress? She'd already turned down his advances at every turn and now she showed up here, at his reading? Just to tease him? Evil woman. He gulped down a nervous laugh while she continued smirking, completely cognizant of the effect she was having on him.

Kate Beckett in the precinct may have been sexy as hell in its own way but Kate Beckett in a dress…well, he was completely doomed. And that was when he realized he'd do just about anything to see her in a dress again.

* * *

A couple months later, he finally found a way to make it happen. He'd been dreaming (or more accurately, fantasizing) about it ever since the book reading. He and Beckett had been instructed to go on an undercover mission to a charity benefit. Absolutely perfect. He couldn't have thought up a better opportunity, aside from those aforementioned fantasies (ones that would have left him screaming "apples" as she twisted his ear).

When they made the plan to attend the gala, he'd jumped at the chance to make it special. He was sure she had plenty of things to wear. She was gorgeous. What gorgeous woman like Kate Beckett didn't keep at least a handful of dresses in her closet? Clearly she wasn't too shy to show up in the pink dress that he'd played back in his mind way too many times.

But this was different. This wasn't just a typical night out. Did Beckett even go out? So much of her was still a mystery to him. And then there was the fact that this was the first time they were going out together. Just the two of them, dressed up with… well, the rest of high society. So what if she'd shoot him for considering it a date. Logically, he knew it was just for the case. That hadn't stopped his body from thrumming with the anticipation of having her on his arm all night.

So he took a chance and had a dress delivered to her door. He'd actually had a great time choosing it, which surprised him. He'd never done that before. He'd never cared enough about a date (or non-date) before to think that far ahead. At least not cared about it in the same way. Maybe in the past he'd have done it to show off or to seem impressive. This was different. He just wanted her to feel like the most gorgeous woman in the room. To be lavish for a night. She was so dedicated to her job, and yes, this night _was_ for work but that didn't mean it couldn't be fun too. If anyone deserved a little fun, it was Beckett.

He'd taken Alexis with him for help. They had made an evening of it, his daughter dragging him through store after store until he saw it. Alexis had beamed when he pointed to it. Red, of course. And strapless. It _had_ to be strapless now that he had knowledge (and dangerous memories) of her exposed skin. And a plunging back that would allow his hands to brush across her if they danced. God, he hoped they danced. Alexis had ooh'd and ahh'd over the detailing and sworn Kate would love it. He wasn't sure that Kate would even consider it but that didn't stop him from immediately making the purchase.

So she'd either hate it and wear whatever she'd already chosen or maybe, just maybe, she'd wear it. Maybe she'd think it was sweet and see that he cared? He could only hope. Although he couldn't quite explain it, he felt the need to somehow show her he was more than just his image. There was something about her, even in the short amount of time they'd been working together, that challenged him, that broke him out of his persona. He'd love to be a fly on the wall to see her expression when she received it. To know whether he screwed up and overstepped or whether it made her heart race the way his did at the thought of seeing her in it.

On the night of the gala, his mother and Alexis had to stage an intervention. He was so nervous he'd been pacing the loft and yelling for them to help him find various things for two whole hours leading up to the time Kate was supposed to arrive. Alexis had finally threatened to duct tape him to a chair if he didn't snap out of it so he poured a drink and forced himself to relax. He was Rick Castle. He could project a cool demeanor, _right_?

But, all of his pacing was warranted because his heart nearly stopped the moment he saw Kate standing before him wearing _the_ dress he'd chosen. "Simply stunning," he'd heard his mother say. "You look incredible," Alexis had added. His daughter snuck a look at him and winked.

"Really?" Kate had asked, sounding hesitant. Wait, was she…was she _nervous_? He'd been so nervous he hadn't noticed her somewhat obvious nerves himself. That was crazy. She looked…yeah, stunning, as his mother had said.

"_Really_," he'd emphasized. "You clean up nice, Detective Beckett" he added, somehow managing to maintain a calm exterior, momentarily encouraged by her sudden shyness. He took a deep breath forcing his heart rate to steady. Where the pink dress had been sexy and sultry and teasing, this dress made Kate look incredibly sophisticated. Gorgeous. Ugh, he really hoped there would be dancing involved. All he knew was that he was going to be by far the luckiest man at that gala because he would have her on his arm.

* * *

The third time he sees her in a dress is completely unlike the first two but it equally unnerves him. He's just doing his best not to get his ass kicked by a really unhappy looking Russian killer when she struts, yes _struts_ in wearing…actually, he's not even sure what she's wearing could be considered a dress. Everything about her screams _sex._ And all he sees is legs and chest (is that a red bra?) and oh my gosh she's _slurring Russian_! Something about him barely even being a man. Oh but, he'd _love_ to show her just how much of a man he is. And is it _even_ possible for him to be _that_ turned on with a mobster holding a gun to his chest in a dirty kitchen in Chinatown?! He thinks she's trying to persuade Angry Russian to let him go but all his blood has flowed south and he really just wants her to keep speaking Russian forever while he pins her up against the kitchen counter and does dirty dirty things to her body.

But before he knows it she's pinning Angry Russian down against the counter instead of him, while he stares open-mouthed at her barely covered ass. Yes, he's going to die tonight and it won't be because of Russian mobsters.

"Is it just my imagination or did you change?" he squeaks out because honestly, there's not much else he can concentrate on at the moment.

She rewards him in typical Beckett fashion by growling at him to go get back up, in an exasperated tone that he's come to expect from her.

He reluctantly leaves but that night his dreams are filled with red lipstick, lace, and Beckett's voice slurring "Riccckky" at him in a Russian club.

* * *

Dress number four, well, he could write a book just about that night. The way the tight blue fabric clung to all the right places, plunging neckline that revealed so much and yet not _nearly_ enough all at the same time. The open back that made him yearn to run his fingers across her bare skin and continue all the way down across every perfectly defined curve of her body.

As if he wasn't already incredibly hyped from the news of getting an offer to write a British agent who shall go unnamed, and completely strung out waiting to see her reaction to his dedication in Heat Wave - she shows up looking as beautiful as he's ever seen her and suddenly all he cares about is finding a way to prove to her how he meant that dedication ten times over.

Paula rambles to him about not taking his calls and his offer and getting Nikki Heat out of his system and he suddenly knows that he will _never _get this woman, Kate Beckett, out of his system.

So he makes his way to her with every intention of finding a way to express that thought, whether it be by words or by dragging her out of the room so that his mouth can caress every inch of her body.

He watches her reading, thoughtful, somehow softer in her expressions than she usually allows him to see. She seems surprised, flustered even. _Could she really not see what she means to him?_

And it's all right there on the tip of his tongue.

"I meant it. You are extraordinary."

He's pretty sure that he's never been more unable to disguise his feelings. Never been so easily undone by someone the way she undoes him. And in the moment he's just going to go for it. Lay it all out there.

"Listen, I was thinking…"

He watches as her breath catches, as if she's both terrified and hopeful all at once and somehow he knows, _he knows_, he just can't say it. Whatever this is, whatever this feeling is between them that's growing stronger, he isn't sure he's ready yet. Knows _she _isn't ready either. He's _wanted_ her since the moment she first showed up, all hot and official and demanding. But now he's not so sure that's _all_ he wants anymore.

So he does what he seems to be best at when it comes to her…screws everything up.

Find a safe topic. Talk about the case. _Really Rick?!_ Even Beckett looks like she can't believe that's where he went. He can almost feel the disappointment leaking out of her as she tries desperately to school her expression. And now she's even more adorably flustered. And asking about his offer. _Shit. _Maybe he can at least salvage this by doing a little digging. Find out whether it even matters to her if he walks away.

"I haven't accepted it yet," he says hurriedly.

"But you're going to aren't you?" she asks.

"Well…you think I should?" he questions. He can hear the curiosity echoing in his voice.

"Yeah, I mean…is there a reason why you wouldn't?" _Damn, if she isn't good at doing the questioning_, ever the detective. She still appeared hopeful though. Like she wanted him to reassure her. Not going to happen, Beckett, _two can play this game._

"So you'd be okay if I didn't write another Nikki Heat?" he says, trying his best to force her hand.

"Yeah, I mean why wouldn't I? It's not like I asked you to write the first one," she states, rolling her eyes at him.

_Ouch, Beckett._ He should have known better than to push her. He can feel himself becoming defensive. "You know, a lot of people would be flattered that someone chose to write a book based on them," he states, looking down. Suddenly he hates where this conversation has gone.

"_Flattered?!"_ Beckett scoffs. Okay so maybe flattered wasn't the best word choice_. _ But shit, this really sucked. And now she was clearly annoyed and he felt like crap and she was ranting on about how much teasing she'd gotten because of Nikki Heat and _damnit_, once again she found a way to make it all _his_ fault.

An hour later as he rides home alone in the back of the limo he'd rented for the party, he can't help but wonder how one moment she was all soft curves and nervous smiles and the next her eyes were flashing angrily at him as though she wanted to rip his head off. Funny how both images were equally arousing. Beckett in a dress really _was _going to be the death of him one day.

* * *

He never expected to run into her on a date. It wasn't fair. He so rarely got to see her in a dress and here she was all dressed up for some other man. He knew she wasn't his. Would probably never even entertain the idea of being his. Hence, the reason he'd gone to the trouble of calling the reporter back and had gotten this date. So she wouldn't be romantically linked to him anymore. He still didn't understand what had given anyone the idea that they were together. He didn't talk about her _that_ much did he?

But still, the idea of her spending hours getting ready, looking gorgeous for some other man really got under his skin. Who was this guy, anyway? _Brad_. Even the name made the guy sound like a tool. Like he was ripped off the pages of a calendar. All smooth lines and no substance.

Never mind that he was on a date with Bachelorette Number 3. Totally different. Yeah, _totally different._

It didn't help that Kate was wearing red. Red that gave him flashbacks to the night she was on _his_ arm. Or the fact that the cut of her dress left one shoulder completely exposed and tempted him from all the way across the room. She was beautiful tonight, more beautiful than any of the girls on the list. He tried his best to drag his gaze away from her and focus on his own date. Amanda, he was here with Amanda.

Except on top of the fact that Beckett was only a few tables away with Calendar Boy, his mind was still spinning with all the details of the case. Maybe he could talk it out. He was always best when he was bouncing ideas and maybe it'd impress his date while he was at it. At least he wasn't thinking about Beckett, _much_.

That is until he noticed her getting up. Hmm, maybe he could just excuse himself for a moment, see if they'd caught any breaks. He couldn't help himself. Not once, but twice. Okay so maybe excusing himself twice was a little embarrassing. But Bachelorette Number 3 was really boring. She hardly even talked except to order more wine.

And they really did catch a break in the case. In the name of official police work it was only right that he leave with Beckett. _Yeah…_

Still, he couldn't help but revel in the small sense of victory he felt as he and Beckett left the restaurant. Maybe she didn't arrive with him but she was leaving with him now and that was enough for him.

* * *

Dress number 6 may not have actually happened but it was quite possibly the hottest, most realistic dream he'd ever had, so he was counting it. Sure, he'd had his share of Beckett dreams but _nothing_ compared to this one. So vivid that he awoke painfully aroused with a situation only cured by an extremely cold shower.

They were playing pool. Or more accurately, she was playing pool and he was staring and trying to retain any ounce of self-control he had left. But it was _his _dream so he figured he could do whatever the hell he wanted. In fact, he wasn't sure why he hadn't thrown himself across the table and ravished her entire body.

She was absolutely _killing_ him. Killing him in bright red 6 inch heels that screamed of sex and dirty, dirty things. He dragged his eyes up her bare legs that seemed to go on for days, wanting…no _needing_ them to be around his waist in the next 5.7 seconds or else he may explode.

Her dress was some tight, strapless, inhumanly hot red number that outlined every perfect line and curve, leaving little to the imagination. He wanted to peel it off her body with his teeth.

And her hair was bordering on pornographic, down, loose, and had these sexy little layers that just barely grazed her naked shoulders, making him want to run his hands through it as he pulled her body flush against his.

But per usual, she was _teasing_ him, even in _his_ dream. Bending over the table so that her perfect ass was completely on display for him, running her fingers up and down the pool stick so suggestively that he almost dropped his own stick or snapped it in two. _Was it possible to die of spontaneous combustion in a dream?_

And the next thing he knew she was pulling his bright yellow tie off of him as if _she_ was every bit as turned on as he was. Blowing rose petals in his face, winking at him, not giving a shit whether the wine glass spilled on the table. And, _oh my gosh_, she was _moaning_ his name. He'd never heard anything as sexy as that in his entire life.

Then suddenly, he found himself at a crime scene, with an annoyed Beckett, yelling at him to snap out of it.

_Damn_, even dream Beckett was a complete tease.

* * *

The next time he saw her in a dress was _not_ his ideal venue. Not that an opportunity to go out with Kate to a club wasn't something he'd typically jump on but male strippers weren't exactly his thing.

"Tell me again why Ryan and Esposito couldn't come with you?" he whined.

"We all agreed as volunteer assistant homicide detective you could really sink your teeth into this avenue of investigation," she stated as if it were the most logical thing ever. "And they called 'Not it.'"

_Figures._ This was so not cool, he thought, as he caught a glimpse of a barely covered male ass on stage.

"Let me know if you need any singles," she added, smirking at him, fully aware of how uncomfortable he was.

Oh well, how bad could it be? At least he was here with Kate. A really hot looking Kate. All dark makeup, tousled hair, and some incredible lacy black dress. _Mmm_, he knew she looked good in red but black was equally enticing.

Yeah, so maybe this wasn't quite as bad of a situation as he'd thought. She left to grab them drinks and suddenly he was swarmed with women. Ok, yeah definitely not as bad as he'd originally imagined.

"Castle!" she yelled, dark eyes flashing. _Whoops_, he hadn't really meant to be surrounded by girls but this _was _a strip club full of women and _damn_, if Kate Beckett wasn't even hotter when she looked jealous.

Damage control time. "Oh, hey Honey!"

Her mouth dropped open in shock and he loved every minute of it. _Yeah, Beckett, if you're going to drag me to watch freaking male strippers, I'm going to have some fun with this too._

"This is my girlfriend, she's very adventurous…" _Ok so he was probably pushing his luck at this point._

But she was all about business. Perfect. They could just go backstage, get out of here with Hans, and maybe he could convince her to go somewhere a little less _male stripper._

"No need, _honey_," he heard her say, giving back just as good as he'd dished out before. "He's in the next act." The night was rapidly going downhill again. He could barely watch as he listened to Beckett telling him to relax. Relax? With overly tanned men stripping on stage? _No thank you._ The next thing he knew, Beckett was attempting to arrest Hans rather unsuccessfully. Oh no, no way he was letting Fabio grind his body all over her. So he did what any rational, jealous man would do…he reached for the spray.

"Too much?"

Yeah, Kate in black lace was most definitely too much for him to handle.

* * *

He was pretty sure that he'd never completely recover from the second time he saw Kate in a little black dress. They were going undercover again. But this time, it was much more his style.

She'd stolen his keys. The Ferrari keys. And well, he couldn't even bring himself to care because _wow_, he wasn't sure who was more turned on by the time they arrived at the club. She knew just how to handle every shift and every turn. He felt himself growing more excited with each rev of the engine, his body absolutely humming at the feel of the car's vibrations. By the time they reached the club, she looked breathless handing over his keys. Breathless and smug and smiling as if she knew _exactly_ how much she'd affected him.

It wasn't even fair how absolutely scorching hot she was driving his car, in that sinfully short dress, hair tousled by the wind. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so alive, the arousal and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

That was until they were inside and on the dance floor.

She'd shed her coat at the door and he found himself wishing he could do the same. He was burning up and he didn't know whether it was the temperature in the room or his body's reaction to the wicked way she was moving. The music pumping a steady beat throughout the club, a perfect mirror to his jumping pulse.

She couldn't have been any closer to him without actually touching. He could smell the fruity scent of her shampoo, hypnotizing as she swayed her hips to the bass in the song. Pounding out a primal rhythm that made him feel like he was losing his mind. He was rapidly losing his self-control. He ached to press his lips to her neck where she pulled back her hair. To grab her waist and press her up against the nearest hard surface. To trail his mouth across her ear and whisper exactly what he wanted to do to her.

And then suddenly, she was facing him, still grinding her hips in a way that should be _illegal_ and he had ball his hands into fists at his sides so that he wouldn't grab her and mold her perfect body to his own. Let her feel just how much he wanted her. She looked at him with hooded eyes, dark with desire, and damn_,_ he was not going to be responsible for his actions if she kept looking at him like _that._

She carded her hand through her hair, still moving perfectly in sync to the song and oh how he wanted to slide his own hand through her hair and pull her mouth to his. To wipe that all too knowing, sexy smirk off her face. But then she was leaning in dangerously close and he had to force himself not to close his eyes. Was she about to…

But then she was whispering in his ear for _him_ to go get the drinks this time and to keep his eyes peeled for Oz. That's right, _case Rick, focus._

"Ok." He barely managed to spit out the words and she walked away, still swinging her hips to the song. Her tight black dress giving him the most incredible view of her curves. Oh God, he was dying. He'd survived killers and Mummy curses and explosions and _this_ was going to be what did him in…

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was like a magnet, constantly pulling him in with every entrancing sway of her body. And, _shit_ he was so busted as she turned and leveled him a classic Beckett look.

He took a deep breath, "Drinks, got it."

Yep, she was going to kill him, but oh, what a way to go.

* * *

Then, there was the wedding dress. Well, Ryan's wedding. He'd wanted Kate to be his plus one all along. Only, he didn't know exactly where their line was anymore. He was waiting. She wanted him to wait? _He hoped_. So, it was much easier to take Alexis and just be excited that he'd see her there. In a dress, looking amazing. Not that she didn't always look amazing. Seriously though, Kate Beckett in a dress…

But Alexis cancelled on him. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. His daughter was growing up, didn't need him for all that much anymore. And now he was probably going to be stuck at some singles table, looking all desperate. Super lame, Rick.

He walked in, pausing to look around, trying to spot someone familiar, and was greeted immediately by her voice.

"Castle, you look like a lost puppy!" He turned to watch her approach and it was…well, it was amazing. She was all brilliant smiles and light features. Dressed in a modest, grey, knee length dress that suited her perfectly. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was so beautiful.

"Where's your date?" she asked, as she glided down the steps towards him, still smiling widely and unrestricted.

He explained Alexis's absence and tried to not to let the disappointment lace his voice.

"Maybe we could be each other's plus ones?" she asked, the question hanging in the air.

Oh, _oh_…she wanted? "Yeah!" It slipped out without a second thought and he felt his heart swell within his chest.

As they chatted with Ryan and caught a glimpse of Jenny in her wedding gown, he snuck a glance at Kate, and watched the way she was completely alight today. So full of life and hope and exuding joy. He reveled in these moments with her. When she was completely Kate and not Beckett.

For a moment, he allowed himself to picture them as the ones about to walk down the aisle. He swallowed back the sudden emotion at that image.

"You know I gotta say, I kinda envy him," he stated. He really did envy Ryan. As much as he joked about marriage and played off the pain of his two failed tries, he still wanted to believe that with the right person, it could work. That with _her_ it would work.

"Well who knows, Castle, maybe third times a charm?"

_Oh, Kate_. As she took his arm and walked down the aisle with him, he thought Ryan wasn't the only lucky man today.

* * *

He couldn't deal with her in a dress that night. He felt like he'd been sucker punched. She'd lied to him. He'd been waiting for her all year long, waiting and hoping and being nothing but a damn fool. That's all he was, a fool.

_She didn't love him._

And he knew was being an ass. He _wanted_ to be an ass. Wanted to punish her for allowing him to follow her around like a lovesick puppy for the last couple of years. He was so angry and hurt and damnit he wanted to erase her from his mind. It was like she was a parasite sucking the life from him, never letting him go, killing him a little more each passing day.

_She didn't love him._

It took everything he had to even show up at the precinct right now. It took everything to pretend that he wasn't dying inside every time he looked at her.

And here she was, on another man's arm in the most beautiful black gown he'd ever seen. For the first time in weeks he couldn't mask the feelings. He was sure it was written all over his face. Her beauty…his heartbreak. He wanted to walk across the room and punch British Agent Man's accent right out of him.

He hated himself for wanting her to be on his arm. But that's all he could feel in that moment. He loved her.

_She didn't love him._

That night, Kate Beckett in a dress really did kill him.

* * *

There were other dresses, of course. Much happier, lighter times that followed the pain of that spring before they'd finally, _finally_ gotten together. Visions of Kate in sundresses, walking hand in hand in Central Park, along the beach with him in the Hamptons. The gown she'd worn to the _Naked Heat_ movie premiere, stunning as they walked down the red carpet. Slinky black and red and blue dresses from more undercover work. But, he would never, _never_ get over the way she managed to leave him a stuttering mess whenever he'd pick her up for a date.

He didn't even had a favorite. She was equally stunning in so many different ways depending on what she wore, right down to when she was wearing absolutely nothing at all. He smiled even more at that thought.

But he wasn't at all prepared for the way he felt in that instant when the door opened and he caught a glimpse of her. In a split second, he knew that _this_ was the dress he would remember her in forever.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Everything, absolutely everything was this moment. The way the white fabric contoured to the shape of her body and flowed down to the floor. Her hair swept up into loose curls that framed her face. She was brilliant, luminous, _perfect_.

_She was everything._

Kate Beckett in a wedding dress. Nothing else was comparable. He knew that no words could ever completely capture her but he was reminded again why he chose the poem for their ceremony.

…_you should see when I turn to find_

_her how my least heart-beat becomes less._

_And then all her beauty is a vise_

_whose stilling lips murder suddenly me,_

_but of my corpse the tool her smile makes something_

_suddenly luminous and precise_

_-and then we are I and She…_

And she was his wife.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


End file.
